


Also Ran

by Belle_Evans



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Drunk Sex, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sexual Content, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-06-03 05:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6598426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belle_Evans/pseuds/Belle_Evans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is in a mood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This just popped into my head yesterday, so I needed it out of my head. Probably because Civil War is on the horizon and I watched Ant Man last night. I am also all about the angst so there's that.

“It's not easy being in the shadow of all that perfectness is it? Hard to live up to. Live with.”

Sam looks up to find the Winter Soldier looming over him. A leftover perception from their initial encounters and the fact Sam is sitting down. The truth is the assassin has, at the most, an inch on him.

 

Flicking his eyes up down and over, there's a black baseball cap jammed down on his head and a black leather jacket whose long sleeves can more than accommodate and conceal the metal arm. Black jeans that look painted on, concealing next to nothing. The drink in the non-metal hand looks decidedly alcoholic. The man doesn't strike Sam as someone who would or could drink for pleasure so...

“I thought you guys couldn't get drunk.”

“Buy me a drink, I'll tell you a story.” 

Without being invited, the assassin sets his current drink on the table, sprawling in the chair across from Sam who signals the bartender to bring another of whatever his unexpected companion is already having.

Once the new drink is set at his elbow and downed in the blink of an eye on the heels of the first one, “One of the scientist, in one of the eras didn't like to drink alone. Enjoyed his Absolut. And in all the overwrites it was never detected. So I **can** get drunk, but only on this.”

The relay of information is matter of fact.

“Interesting.”

“Buy me another one. It might get more interesting.” 

It's a challenge Sam can't seem to resist. He makes sure to pace himself, because while his drinking buddy might be able to get drunk, it more than likely would still take more for it to happen to him than it does for Sam. His companion already has enough advantages over him. He doesn't want to just hand him one more. 

The assassin is starting to look a little flushed though. It's kind of a turn on. To know something about the Soldier that Sam is pretty certain none of the other Avengers, especially Stark, know or any remaining HYDRA know...yeah. He takes a slow sip of his beer to wait for what comes next. 

“Even when he was a ninety pound weakling, he could be insufferable.” Sam doesn't want to trash Steve. That's not why he's out alone tonight. He'd just wanted to maybe drown some sorrows, wallow in some self-pity. 

 

Steve's 'perfectness' is not a problem. It's not perfection, but surety of purpose. He goes where Cap goes, but that was a decision made in the heat of impending battle with the adrenaline, the wings and maybe getting a little back to honor Riley. 

 

It's one thing to be heroic when you're one of a platoon, battalion or squad, it's a group identity. It's a whole other thing when you're distinctly costumed, on television and people are giving you double takes in the street because they think they know you, but can't remember from where exactly. He wants what the Winter Soldier has. The anonymity, the freedom to come, but especially go. No one knows exactly where the assassin beds down, but he manages to show up when he's needed, at Stark Tower for briefings, on missions, often like a spectre on the periphery. 

Now that the dust is settling maybe what Sam wants is what he originally wanted post deployment. A quiet life, helping other returning Vets. The occasional hookup that would only become known if he chose to tell. Without Cap's surety, Sam's Avenger shelf life may be a lot shorter than he anticipated. 

At last call, they're both tipsy at best. Sam knows an underground place still serving. It's within walking distance and the Soldier follows him out of the bar and onto their next destination without objection. 

 

After a couple surreal games of pool, more vodka, it doesn't come as any surprise to Sam to find his back pressed against the wall in a darker corner of the club. The metal arm anchors against the wall next to his head. Without preamble, the flesh hand snakes under Sam's shirt as the body it goes with presses close. He wonders how long the Soldier has had him, **them** under surveillance. 

 

It wouldn't even surprise him if this was some kind of latent second wave, Plan B way to hurt Captain America. There is still concern that there might be some programming just waiting to be triggered by the most innocuous thing. The fact that no one knew before tonight that he could get drunk speaks to that possibility. 

Sam's doesn't care because that's the mood he's in tonight. He feels reasonably assured of his safety, but if things get a little rough he's here for that. He just wants to be a little bit drunk and a little bit high on endorphins tonight. Mission like adrenaline pumps through his body. 

He half expects the assassin he's about to have sex with to disappear in the middle of this encounter, to be left hard and wanting up against the wall. It's leverage enough that Sam is willing. 

The hand stroking his cock, fondling his balls is practiced, talented as is the tongue in his mouth. Everything about it is _good_ \- the way the Winter Soldier smells, sounds, his complete command of Sam's looming orgasm. In the archival footage James Buchanan Barnes carried himself with the swagger of an old time movie star. It's not hard to imagine there were panties dropping in every port. 

The kind of assassin he is now doesn't need seduction as part of his skill set, but it doesn't mean that it wasn't Easter egged in by some other scientist with a shits and giggles agenda. Or just mad scientist madness. 

It feels like they are loud, attention getting, get a room loud, but the music is vibrating the wall beneath Sam's back so their gasps and moans against each other attracts no attention. It's positive encouragement for bad behavior. Sam can't help but arch that much harder into the calloused hand on him. The Soldier grinds against his thigh. 

The clean-up is cursory. The assassin gives Sam a smirking up and down as he wipes his hand on his own jeans. He can't possibly be comfortable with his release trapped in his jeans, but Sam guesses it's the nature of the man not to let it register on his face. Given the totality of his life circumstance, it's possible the discomfort doesn't register at all. 

Sam wonders what Steve's reaction will be if he forgoes a shower when he gets home and just crawls into bed smelling like another man's sweat, spunk. Like the Winter Soldier. 

They leave the club together. There's no awkwardness in it. Instead, they move down the sidewalk side by side for a couple blocks. Then the Soldier pushes Sam up against a brick wall, shoves his tongue in his mouth for a last down and dirty exploration of his tonsils before disappearing into the darkness. 

 

When Sam puts his key in the front door, he still hasn't decided whether or not he's going to shower the night off before falling into bed. It becomes a moot point when he steps across the threshold. Steve is sitting in the armchair under the three way lamp. The lamp is set on the lowest setting so it mostly just illuminates the Avenger's face. That's really all that's necessary. For a moment Sam feels caught. It's compounded by the carefully blank look on Steve's face and the flat inflection of the question that comes out of his mouth.

“Where were you?”

Sam has lost track of the time, hadn't bothered to look at his phone or a clock since last call. A quick glance at the clock on the wall, Steve had insisted on, lets him know it's five a.m. He's an adult who has done nothing wrong.

“I needed to stretch my legs.”

He doesn't think he imagines the flare of Steve's nostrils, but the blankness remains. There's an awkward beat that starts to stretch to uncomfortable. Sam doesn't feel compelled to offer any more of an explanation. Not tonight. He's entitled to keep his own counsel. It looks like Steve hadn't gotten much farther in his plan than 'ambush Sam'. Only Rogers probably doesn't think of it as an ambush. Just the suffocating concern that is his specialty. 

His mouth probably still looks well used. His body still tingles in the places the Winter Soldier marked him. He thinks over the coming days those places will start to ache for more. 

“It's late Steve. I'm gonna...” 

He gestures toward the bedroom, starts to move in that direction before Steve can say anything else. They've semi-solved the problem of the too soft bed by sharing it, replicating the closeness of barracks conditions. Sam doesn't think he imagines Steve inhaling deeply when he walks past him.

 

Fin


	2. In the Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a full blown affair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I guess this has a second part afterall.

It's a full blown affair. There is no other word for it. They don't really ever speak to each other on missions or in briefings unless it is specifically about a matter at hand. _'On your six', 'I'm out, toss me another magazine' 'Duck', 'from aerial surveillance it appears we can breach on the east side_ , things like that.

But the 'encounters' have been down and dirty. Full of all kinds of words, _yeah, right there, harder, more, please_. Sam is looking at one of those encounters right now.

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

“Falcon, a word.”

Sam hangs behind as the rest of the Avengers leave the room. After the door slides closed behind Steve, Stark hands him a tablet that isn't one of their tactical ones. It's the kind he's seen regular staff at Stark use. Sam reaches for it, taps the screen to take it out of energy saver mode. Sometimes, Tony has things that he'd like Falcon to get a better view on. Minutia that is not directly relative to Avenger business, hunches and things that at the moment are personally irking Tony. An irked Tony, is an annoying as hell Tony.

Sam generally doesn't mind. He enjoys the flight time, honing his skills. 

The fact that Stark didn't call him Sam is an indication it's work related. Except it's not. There's a slide show cued up, so he pushes play. That's obviously what Tony, who hasn't said anything else, wants him to do. The blurry paused image resolves into something Sam **can** recognize. The down and dirty. It's been a month since the meeting captured on the slide show, but not a month since he's seen James Barnes. 

It's sort of rare these days for Sam to find himself at loose ends, but one afternoon it had been just that. Footloose and fancy free. With no immediate demands on his time, he'd taken himself out to dinner. Nothing too fancy. Ducking into a diner he'd enjoyed a meal in months ago, but hadn't had the chance to revisit, Sam was looking forward to the opportunity to savor a meal and be quiet with his own thoughts. 

 

Just as he'd been about to tuck into his steak, a dark baseball cap caught his peripheral vision. He was halfway to his feet before he realized it. _No_ , he thought, thousands of guys, girls wore baseball caps. It hadn't kept his feet from moving until he found himself standing on the outside of the door etched with a male stick figure. Checking once over his shoulder to make sure there was no one else in the narrow corridor, Sam tested the door handle. The door swung open easily beneath his hand. 

 

James Barnes slouched against the wall of the bathroom, wearing two shirts and a leather jacket. Smirking. There was only one way a scenario like that was going to end. Without a word, Sam had closed the door firmly and flipped the lock.

For once, the pants James was wearing weren't molded to his body. Sam didn't have to work hard for access. A nice change. It wasn't the second time they'd seen each other since the bar or even the third. It was only the most recent. Along the way, Sam had chosen to call him James. 'Bucky' was out of the question, the Winter Soldier impractical when you were coming. 

 

With the hand that wasn't down the front of James' pants he'd tossed the baseball cap aside before snaking that hand up under the layer closest to James' skin to stroke the small of his back, _Don't hide from me_ had slipped out of his mouth before he's taken James' mouth. 

At the next briefing, James still had the leather, but was wearing one less shirt than he typically did. Sam had had to keep his eyes on the table top, but he couldn't keep the partially smug grin off of his face. 

When Sam got back to his table, the waitress was sort of hovering. He'd been gone long enough to attract notice. After assuring her there was nothing wrong with his food and no dine and dash on the horizon, she stopped hovering. Taking his time, as if he hadn't literally had a man in the bathroom, Sam finished his meal. He also left a generous tip. 

 

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

But that isn't what's on the tablet. On the tablet is a couple of weeks ago. 

“Hey, Sailor.” 

Sam's on his way home from the grocery store. He shouldn't stop or look. It's not like he doesn't recognize the voice. 

“Wanna have some fun?” 

Or the dark promise in it. Before a couple of months ago he never would have figured himself for a public sex kind of guy. 

The spill of the street light doesn't follow him into the alley. In layered head to toe black, the assassin leans against the wall as if it's the most normal thing in the world, Sam takes it in and just wants. Grocery bags forgotten at his feet, his hands anchor on either side of the assassin's hips.  
. 

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

It's a cliché, but it's also true. It doesn't stop Sam from sliding to his knees on the dirty asphalt, and pressing his face into the other man's groin.

“But you like it like this,” is the husky reply. 

 

Apparently, Stark finally figured out how to put a tail on Barnes that stuck. It's no secret the billionaire is unsettled not having any control over The Winter Soldier. There's some new drone technology in the mix. Barnes is the unwitting test subject. Barely any light in the alley, but the images have beautifully clear resonance, the sound is crystal clear. A complete invasion of both their lives. Another point in the walking away column.

 

“I thought you military types understood the concept of squad cohesion. What the fuck are you doing?”

“How is this any of your business Stark? Spying on your colleagues, that's classy.”

“On you knees in an alley, clearly you're a guy who knows a lot about class. It's my business if one of you assholes decides, because of some lover's spat, to willfully disobey a mission order. Or not to give an order, or shoot up a city in a jealous rage.”

“It's been a couple of months. We're all still intact, cities are safe.”

“I'm glad you think so Wilson.”

“Again. None. Of. Your. Business.”

Sam's gaze shifts to the hallway where Steve is talking to Sharon Carter. He and Steve have plans for lunch. Nothing in Sharon or Steve's body language suggests they have any idea what's going down. Like him, they probably assumed there was something specific to the Falcon on the table. 

“If there's nothing else, I have plans.”

“You sure you don't want me to send you screencaps? For the family album?”

“I'm sure you don't want me to punch you in the face. Leave it alone Stark.”

“You're an idiot.”

“Sorry we can't be all as brilliant as you.”

“Don't I know it.”

Using his body to shield the motion from Sharon and Steve, Sam flips Stark the bird before walking out of the room.

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

Not a minute after they sit down on the restaurant's outdoor patio, Steve opens his menu and says,

“I'm thinking of going on leave.” 

Blue eyes don't lift from the menu. They've eaten here often enough Sam is pretty sure Steve knows it by heart. He doesn't bust him on the avoidance. They've made it into something of an artform. 

“When are you thinking of going?”

“Not sure.” Now Steve does put down the menu to finally look Sam in the eye. “Soon.”

“Did you tell Stark?”

“The team is in a good place.”

That sounds like no, but maybe Stark has picked up on it. Maybe that's why he came at Sam so hard. 

“What are you gonna do?”

“I've put in a fair amount of time saving the world. It might be nice to see some of it when it's not in flames.”

“You're gonna walk the earth.”

Steve smiles. “Yeah, I'm gonna walk the earth.”

Steve had been held back after class a few times as well. Sam assumed it was for work related things the whole team didn't need to know about. Maybe that part is true, but the twist is that there was some sort of personal aspect like his meeting with Stark. Maybe this is what made Stark cross the line with his nano drone. 

 

The last couple of visits Steve had with Peggy Carter had **not** gone well. She hadn't been lucid in either, hadn't shown any recognition of her old friend. Steve's departure date might not be set, but if Carter continues to deteriorate...

 

Their server sets the chips and salsa appetizer between them. Steve smiles genuine and polite. Sam doubts his friend will stay in the city one minute past Peggy's time of death.

 

Two weeks later Sam comes home from doing aerial recon in advance of a fact finding mission to find a handwritten note on the bed. He reads the five word note twice before folding it carefully and putting it in his pocket. Avoidance at its finest. 

Less than an hour later there's a knock on his door. Very few people in his life actually knock on the door. They come through the window, land on the roof. If he had a fireplace, they would probably come down the chimney. He doesn't even bother to check the peephole or pick up the gun on the side table.

 

Dressed in a single dark t-shirt, with jeans hugging just the right way, standing on his doorstep in broad daylight, James grins at him. Like a shark. 

“Stalking is illegal.”

“Of the things I've done, that's what you have an issue with? Besides it's surveillance. It's my job.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He steps past Sam and closes the door behind him, locks it. “You gonna give me a tour.”

“I'm pretty sure you already know the lay of the land.”

“I do. I especially like the lay of the land when he's naked.”

“You got jokes?”

Instead of answering, James deftly steps past him to the short hallway leading to the bedroom. Sam blocks his path before he crosses the threshold.

“I can still smell him in here.” James says as he snakes the metal arm around Sam's waist. 

“Don't do that,” Sam responds immediately. They aren't going to do that. This, is not that. 

“Don't be so touchy,” he growls against Sam's neck. 

“Try to dial down your inner asshole a little.”

“Yes sir, Sam sir,” he purrs. 

The tone with just enough deference covering the mocking turns Sam on completely. He is unequivocally doomed. His hands brace on either side of doorway to the bedroom as warm lips nuzzle his neck. The grip around his waist tightens as, James' free hand makes short work of Sam's belt and zipped fly. 

“Shit.” Sam bites down on the inside of his jaw to prevent an audible the moan. The other man's barely even done anything yet. No reason to give him that kind of ego stroke.

“So easy,” James whispers against his ear. Sam would like to protest, unfortunately recent history has shown it to be true, and both of his lover's hands have slipped to his hips to shove his jeans beneath his ass. The wood creaks a little as his hands press more forcefully into the frame.

“Let me,” James growls in his ear. At this point James has had several opportunities to hurt him. He hasn't. There's a level of trust between them now that stuns Sam a little, but it's real. It's as real as him being half-naked in his own home with James crowded up behind him. 

“Yeah, go ahead.”

James doesn't hurt him, at least not a bad hurt. He _does_ fuck Sam until his knees buckle.

“Wow,” Sam moans as his knees hit the hard wood. There's barely any stutter in James' rhythm as he follows Sam down. 

A whisper of a kiss against the nape of Sam's neck before the assassin spills inside of Sam. 

They're slumped in what could be considered a cuddle. Sam's back rests against the assassin's chest, the man's cock still semi-hard inside him. 

“You gonna do something about this,” Sam groans. His own erection's untouched.

“No,” the Winter Soldier says as he tilts Sam's head back. “I already did the heavy lifting.”

“Asshole,” Sam laughs just before James' tongue slides into his mouth and the non-metal hand slides between his legs. 

Later, when they're both spent, still propped against each other in the bedroom doorway, Sam thinks about the note Steve left, wonders if this counts.


End file.
